


You Will Want to Stay

by childhoodinfamy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Chirping, First Kiss, M/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 17:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6123853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childhoodinfamy/pseuds/childhoodinfamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day you will meet someone who will make this messy and hard life easier than you ever thought possible. And you will want to stay.</p><p>or: Jack is terrible at texting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Will Want to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> The quote in the title/summary is from this post: http://stebers.tumblr.com/post/125709096205/
> 
> Text sources are in the notes at the bottom! Because Bitty's twitter is currently private, I linked to Tumblr posts of them. :)
> 
> Anyways, I've been screaming about these nerds nonstop.

_Don’t forget to rest up._

 

Bitty is watching _Orange is the New Black_ , his shirt shucked and limbs starfished to avoid sweat-sticking. He’s not paying much attention, in all honesty. He promised Holster that he’d watch the new season so they could talk about it, but really, Bitty’s just responding to tweets. He’s trying to decide how many smiley faces are appropriate to add when a notification slides down across the top of his screen.

His lungs definitely don’t constrict when he sees the name at the top.

 _Jack_ \--no emojis because every one he’s tried to add has seemed wrong.

He taps the notification, and the screen goes bright white before the texts load. It’s not in the group message, but tacked on to the end of a (very short) string of messages that he and Jack have sent each other.

He’s not sure what he was expecting to read, but it definitely wasn’t this. This weirdly thoughtful non sequitur, sent just past midnight.

Bitty rolls onto his stomach and smothers his smile in his pillow before he composes his response.

_Maybe I could if my captain wasn’t texting me at midnight!_

He makes a point of not watching his phone while Jack responds. Instead, face still buried, he listens to the cadences of _Orange is the New Black_. It sounds like the prison has a bed bug problem. Bitty tunes back out.

His phone lights up in his hand, and Bitty pretends to wait a minute before opening it, like he hasn’t been drumming his fingers against his mattress since Jack started typing.

 _Haha_ , it reads. Bitty rolls his eyes. It took him that long to type four letters?

He taps out, _Goodnight, Jack_ , and sets his phone on his nightstand, face down. He sits up, shuts the lid to his laptop, turns off the lamp, and settles into his mattress. His arms wrap tightly around one pillow, his head on a second and Señor Bunny next to him.

There’s a familiar fluttering in his chest, his limbs, his breaths, and it’s a long time before he’s asleep.

 

-

 

_How are you?_

 

It’s not much of a day, really. A Thursday, at camp, and Bitty’s on his lunch break. He can see another counselor--Rachel, but if any of the kids ask, Bitty would insist her name is Blueberry--watching over his kids as they make friendship bracelets at the craft tent.

It’s Georgia-hot, and Bitty’s water bottle is sweating condensation on the wood of the picnic table. His skin has already turned a golden-pink over the last few weeks; there are strips of still-pale skin where his sandals sit. The air is like inhaling soup. It’s comfortable here; he misses Samwell, but this is good too. He likes the way the whole camp smells of sunscreen and sweat and grass.

He finishes his lunch a few minutes early, and his tupperware makes a loud clicking noise as he snaps the lid on. It nearly drowns out the sound of his phone vibrating.

He flicks his sunglasses back onto his face. He looks, then, to see what the notification is.

 _Jack_ , his phone reads.

He unlocks it, his thumbs fumbling to enter his passcode correctly.

The text is short, but it puts a smile onto Bitty’s face. He thinks for a moment before answering.

_Sunburnt!_

The response is faster than Jack’s normally are.

_Wear sunscreen._

Bitty is laughing when the second message comes through.

_And drink water._

Bitty puts his lunch debris into his bag and grabs the bottle of sunscreen. He snaps a quick picture of his water bottle, the sunscreen next to it. He attaches the picture to a text that reads, _Got it!_

By the time Jack gets around to replying--he’s busy with training camps, and Bitty is surprised that he has any time at all to be thinking about his teammates’ well-being--it’s nearly eight. Bitty has been home for hours, a pie already made and partially eaten.

_Very good._

A few minutes later, Bitty tweets a link to a comic, and captions it with, “Take note all future significant others.”

He and Jack keep talking for an hour or so that night, until Jack texts him goodnight at nine-thirty and Bitty spends another two hours humming to himself.

 

-

 

_How do you feel? Tired like before?_

 

It’s always around the end of July that summer speeds up. June crawls by, July feels about right, and August feels like it lasts a week. That’s how it’s always been for Bitty--dreading going back to school, willing the summer days to be just a little lazier. He’s never once _wanted_ school to start again.

This year, July crawls just the same as June, and every week just feels slower than the last.

It’s certainly not the classes that have him so excited, though there is a seminar that Lardo texted him about. No, he’s mostly looking forward to being back at the Haus, to reality TV marathons and library days and (somehow) early morning practices. He wants to get to know the frogs, to see Ransom and Holster and Lardo and Shitty and Jack.

He’s sitting on the porch with his mom, enjoying the humid summer evening. They’ve been talking, mostly. Bitty’s phone vibrates, and he glances down at it.

Jack, checking in.

He has to bite his lip to keep his smile from saying too much. He responds,  _It’s not even seven, Grandpa._

_But how is your head feeling?_

He knows his mom is saying something, but the words are lost on him as he thinks how to respond.

_I’m feeling good._

_Glad to hear it, Bittle._

And his mom is saying his name, now, trying to get his attention. He looks up, and her face is set in amusement.

“Sorry, what?” Bitty asks, and she laughs before getting up and carrying their glasses inside.

He waits until he hears the screen door close before he pulls his legs onto the chair with him and rests his chin on his knees.

The air is loud with frogs, crickets, cicadas. He types out a tweet about Jack’s text, and there’s something about seeing the words repeated that makes them seem tender. Terribly awkward, sure, but considerate. They’re words of concern.

And he can’t think too long about that, so he talks instead about getting his pies photographed, proposes the idea to his mom when she comes back outside with fresh glasses of iced tea. They talk it over for a while. When someone tweets that Bitty should make a calendar, they naturally spend the next hour choosing a pie for each month.

Maple sugar crusted apple for August.

 

-

 

_Stay hydrated this week._

 

He and Jack have only been out of class for an hour, but Bitty is already starting in on his homework for their food seminar. Well, strictly speaking, the homework is a sizable reading, but the reading had opened with a _recipe_ . From the _nineteenth century._ What’s he supposed to do?

The butter is out before he’s started the second paragraph.

He’s rolling the crust out on the counter--his hands and wrists coated in a fine layer of flour, his hips shaking to the music piping through his phone’s speakers. He’s just about to start singing along to the chorus when his phone vibrates. It’s a text, so he considers ignoring it until the crust is in the pie tin.

But then there’s Jack’s name on the screen, and suddenly it seems a lot more important that he answers the text now.

The towel is rough on Bitty’s hands, and he tosses it onto the counter next to his phone.

When he reads the text, he gives a soft sigh, and responds.

_You just saw me an hour ago, I promise I haven’t dropped dead since then._

He leaves the phone unlocked next to him while he washes his hands. He’s just finished crimping the crust when the phone vibrates again.

_Two liters a day. :-)_

Bitty stares at the smiley face. He’s never seen Jack text one and it looks awfully out of place, sitting there, tagged on to the end of an otherwise innocuous text.

The three dots appear again, bouncing--Jack is typing.

_Sorry that was a typo._

_Oh, Jack._

Bitty sets his phone down and starts to peeling apples. Each sliver of peel makes a soft slapping sound as it hits the sink. Like culinary music, the accompaniment to this awfully strange conversation he’s having. The texts mostly taper off until Jack comes back to the Haus.

Bitty is just putting the pie into the oven when Jack walks into the kitchen.

“I knew you weren’t going to finish that reading,” he says.

“There was a _recipe,_ Jack. _Please._ ”

Jack fills a glass of water from the sink. He’s nearly out of the kitchen when he sets it on the table and calls over his shoulder, “You should drink that.”

 

-

 

_We need to cook for class. :/_

 

They’re in the living room, in the midst of one of Holster’s _Downton Abbey_ -watching noise-bans. Bitty has a pie cooling on the wire rack in the kitchen, and a timer set to go off when it’ll be cool enough to eat. He knows Ransom will sneak a piece before it does, and will claim the burned mouth is worth it. Bitty will pretend it’s not flattering.

Shitty is studying, papers spread around him in a semi-circle, and Jack is half-watching. Bitty leans against the back of the couch, and tries not to snoop when Jack pulls out his phone.

Jack is never on his phone. Bitty has actually _seen_ him text maybe three times, ever, so he’s naturally curious to know who Jack is talking to.

And then his own pocket vibrates just as Jack sets his phone down.

He stares at the emoticon for a minute or so, glancing between it and Jack, waiting for the “sorry that was a typo” text. It doesn’t come.

Instead, Jack takes out his phone again.

_We can go to Stop & Shop today. _

And, a few seconds later--

_Murder Stop & Shop. _

Bitty smiles.

_Perfect. I was running low on brown sugar._

_I have a Skype call with a GM @ 6...can we go before then?_

It might be the longest text he’s ever seen Jack type. Bitty straightens from his perch on the back of the couch and begins walking towards the stairs as he types, _I’ll get my wallet now._

They’re on their way within ten minutes. It’s freezing outside, but they’re both bundled in hats, scarves, coats, mittens.

“Short on ingredients again, eh?”

“Yes, Jack, and don’t you dare chirp me for it. I don’t see you complaining when you’re eating the pies,” Bitty says.

Jack chuckles, and it’s a warm sound. Bitty doesn’t get to hear it much, but it’s been happening more often lately. Talking to Jack has been easier this year than it ever was before. Something about hearing Jack’s ridiculous old person music sneaking into Bitty’s room from across the hall has made Jack seem a lot less intimidating. That, and the fact that he’s actually started smiling (smiling!) every so often.

Bitty knows his face is bright pink by now, isn’t sure if it’s from the cold or a blush.

 

-

 

_I’m surprised your cookies got through customs, Bittle._

 

It takes Jack a day to find them. Bitty is starting to worry that maybe security took them, or Jack somehow missed them.

But then--a text.

Bitty just sends a string of emojis back.

_How do you get those little pictures on your phone?_

Bitty laughs, and mutters, “Oh lord.” He explains the emoji keyboard to Jack, who is in over his head.

_Bittle, why are there so many? I just wanted the cookie one._

 

-

 

_Wow._

 

He’s almost sure it didn’t really happen.

It could have been a fever dream. He was awake most of last night--maybe it was a sleep deficit-induced hallucination. He’s not sure what it was, but it most certainly could not have been real.

No, Jack’s thumb pressed so gently to Bitty’s jaw, the other soft on his back. The faint sound of Bitty’s music, turned up too loud, still drizzling into the air through his earbuds. The smell of Lysol wipes and dust and cardboard, the windows letting sunlight in. Floorboards creaking every time either of them shifts their weight.

And Jack--

Jack and Jack and Jack and--Jack kissing him, Jack engulfing anything else about the moment, because those other things couldn’t possibly matter just now.

Those things simply were not possible, and yet.

It’s not until his phone buzzes in his hand and he glances down, fingers brushing along his bottom lip, that it all pulls into focus.

His hands are shaking when he types in the four-digit passcode (it takes him three tries), but he doesn’t have to think before he sends his response.

_Wow._

**Author's Note:**

> SOURCES! I love me some sources. :)
> 
> text 1: http://omgeverythingplease.tumblr.com/post/120057746946/  
> text 2: http://omgeverythingplease.tumblr.com/post/120062408066/  
> the comic bitty tweeted: http://toffany.tumblr.com/post/91398965818/  
> text 3: http://omgeverythingplease.tumblr.com/post/120139002456/  
> text 4: http://omgeverythingplease.tumblr.com/post/125123035911/  
> text 5: http://omgeverythingplease.tumblr.com/post/125631268689/  
> text 6: http://omgeverythingplease.tumblr.com/post/126431647369  
> emoji keyboard question post: http://nielrian.tumblr.com/post/140057320089
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
